forever is a long time, you know
by Olivelovesyou
Summary: Uraraka dreams of green. (loose interpretation of a "soulmate w/past lives" prompt. au.)


One perfectly normal morning, Uraraka wakes up with the taste of apple juice on her tongue and a single word— _Deku_.

It means… _useless_. Or, as she likes to think of it, a sort of slogan, like "you can do it!" or something. Whatever the meaning, it's just one word. Not a big deal.

And then, in the first week of summer, the dreams begin.

In her first, she is a princess, adorned with crystals and rubies and emeralds almost as deep as _his_ eyes, and he is a soldier, and a bodyguard, and a friend. They fly, fly through golden rooms and his laugh sounds like wind chimes echoing in the cedar woods.

And he dies for her, on the blood red ground, to protect her like so many others. Because it is his duty. Because he loves her.

(She remembers his laugh for years and years, long after everything else has faded from memory. Long after she wakes, even.)

In the next, she meets a boy who sounds like sunshine, smells of peppermint and whose eyes sparkle with a thousand hopes and dreams. They walk through forests, telling campfire stories under a blanket of stars. Their songs, sung to the ever-present _thump_ of marching feet, tell of dragons and heroics, of magic long lost. She hands apple crisps out to faces she can't quite remember, he sings ballads of loves long lost, and they both keep in time to the beating of their hearts.

He smells like peppermint and pine trees when they part ways and promises to meet again.

(Whether they do or not, Uraraka does not know. She leaves it to her imagination, to the darkest hours of the night, and keeps those thoughts to herself. _Peppermint, pine trees, sunshine, songs_ , she recites to the shadows. She must not forget. She can't.)

And all at once, she lives with her life on the line and a cigarette between her lips, drunk with smoke and gasoline fumes. She is wild and reckless in youth, chasing danger like leaves on the wind, only to turn around and fall backwards again. Unforgiven, unfettered, she searches for the next thrill, her next taste of glorious, glorious freedom.

And he is right beside her, when she sneaks out past midnight, when the melon moon hangs heavy over the rain-washed grass. He serenades her with the tinned sound of radio love songs while they drive away from everything they've ever known, wild and free and hungry for more. The summer night is warm.

He says he loves her, and she says it right back.

(That morning, the taste of apple juice is stronger than ever, and Uraraka smells faintly of cigarette smoke.)

And once they meet by the cherry blossoms at dawn, but she is a proper young lady and he is a proper gentleman, so they walk right past but remember _that face_. It's short and sweet and all she gets before morning comes, which is exactly why the image stays with her. A forest of curls and a galaxy of freckles swept across his face— _Deku's_ face. It almost scares her, how familiar it sounds.

(Uraraka keeps a journal now, because there are so many dreams and so many things to remember. She doesn't quite know why she _does_ , or _how_ they fit together, but they mean something to her. Somehow.

In her journal are other dreams, too. She wants to become a hero, support her family, make them proud. It jumbles together, like pieces of two different puzzles smashed together, but Uraraka's sure she can make it work.)

The next shatters _everything_ into small, insignificant pieces.

She's awake, starting to doze off, and then she's _screaming_ , words being ripped from her throat, raw and ugly. What hurts the most is not her pain, or the words she's saying, but the worst is _he's_ _screaming right back._ Why? Why would he do this, how _could_ he? She thought she knew him, she thought they were _happy_ , she thought everything was _perfect!_

The tears don't stop for a very long time, carving scars into her cheeks and they _hurt_. Everything is a reminder of what they used to be, and what they are now—broken. She tries to salvage what's left, tape her glass heart together with band-aids and fragmented feelings, but it's not the same. It'll never be the same.

All he left her was crumbling love letters and the lingering memories of when he still meant anything but loss to her. All she kept was the metallic taste of blood and salt, from the tongue in between her teeth.

(This dream scares Uraraka out of hoping. What if they end up like _that_ again? If a dream is only a dream, real life will be much, much worse.)

The sixth and final dream is quiet.

Snowflakes fall softly onto her eyelashes, the chill turning her nose strawberry red with cold, and she cups her hot chocolate gratefully in her mitten-clad hands. The steam rises steadily, only to scatter when a burst of wind teases at her coattails.

Warm, rough hands are pushing through her hair, rubbing feeling into frost-bitten ears. She's not afraid; the hands are familiar, callouses and scars old news, and the name—oh, the name! She savors his words in her mouth, sounds it out past her lips, and waits for an answer.

And now they are dancing in the kitchen, her in cream-colored dress and him with a fat, red, messy tie wrapped loose around his neck—she must remember to tie it properly, next time. His hands stay steady on her hips, firm ground beneath her feet, and yet the world spins away and away.

Fast forward to soft silk bows, pink roses, and lace handkerchiefs, the happiest day of her life. It's hard to say when he hasn't made her the happiest girl alive, though. He always gives her everything, and she tries to do the same.

Halfway into golden promises and wedding bands, her senses blur together, and this time she _knows_ it's ending. She waits for morning, but instead he laughs like wedding bells, bringing her back to earth; does he know? She wants this day—this _dream_ —to last forever.

It doesn't, but _"'till death do we part"_ is a long time, too.

(Uraraka still wonders about that one. Does he dream of her, too? What does he see? Did they really stay together 'til _death_ _?_ How many 'forevers' has it been?

Is this one of them?)

On the morning of the U.A. entrance exam, Uraraka brushes her teeth, fixes her hair, and tries to stomp out the nervous fire burning in her chest. She's going to be fine. She _has_ to be.

She wears her luckiest charms, her warmest scarf, and a journal full of dreams and phrases and the word _Deku_ in big, blocky letters. It feels right.

She meets a boy with green curls, freckled cheeks, and eyes full of determination and hope. The dreams were right. He's beautiful.

(He broke her heart, once.)

He saves her. It's anybody's guess whether he passed, but she feels—responsible, maybe. Aren't they linked somehow, past time and space?

(She loved him not once or twice, but a thousand times.)

If fate is real… they'll figure it out. This isn't starting over, not really. She wonders if he remembers her. If he—there's so many things she wants to ask him, but not now. Not today.

(He's not going to die. Not on her watch. Not in this lifetime. Never.)

 _The dreams stop the day she meets Deku, and it's unlikely they'll ever come back. Uraraka's starting over, pushing herself forward, and working towards her dreams, Deku or no Deku._

 _After all, forever is the long time._


End file.
